


golden rod & wieners

by decideophobia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/pseuds/decideophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles try to solve a crossword; everyone joins in. Or, Derek and Lydia are competitive, Stiles and Jackson like to have Snark-Offs, and everyone is secretly a horny fifteen year old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	golden rod & wieners

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a prompt asking for a secretly smart Derek. As 'smart' can mean a lot of things, I came up with this. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Also, I am secretly a horny fifteen year old myself.
> 
> You can find the crossword [here](http://www.nytimes.com/crosswords/game/2144/index.html).

There are days when Derek kind of regrets having rented out the loft. Days in a row when Stiles isn’t there, or days like this when everyone crowds into his space, preventing him from spending alone time with Stiles. It’s either too much room for him alone or just too many people when he really just wants Stiles for himself, preferably in the bedroom, specifically in bed, especially naked. 

Now, they’re all here, on summer break after their freshman year at college, lounging in the open space of his living room: on the floor, on the couch and the armchairs, on the floor. Erica, Isaac and Boyd are here, because they’re pack and they secretly like to annoy the shit out of him whenever they can. Lydia joined Stiles. Ever since Stiles got over his hopeless crush on her, they’ve developed a tight friendship. Whereas Stiles and Scott are attached at the hip (which is why Scott is here too), Stiles and Lydia are attached by their brains, apparently. Allison decided to tag along because of Scott and Lydia, mostly, but she grew back into their little group after they had some weird sort of—“Intervention,” Stiles voice says persistently in his head. And Jackson—well, Jackson is pack but he’s been probably more or less bribed into coming. 

Stiles came—Stiles came for him, for Derek. There is no other reason, he knows, because Stiles spends most of his spare time with Derek when he’s on break. So when he’s not currently releasing his fury on his dad for sneakily trying to eat curly fries again, Stiles always gravitates towards Derek, which is something Derek would never complain about. 

Derek’s been in a good mood for a while now. It’s almost a little unsettling given how much time he’s spent in a dark corner of his mind, feeling miserable and guilty and angry all the time. The bitter feelings are still there and Derek suspects they will never leave completely but it has gotten easier to deal with them, and his pack is the main reason. 

Stiles and Scott are sprawled out on the floor, hovering over a crossword, while Lydia and Allison talk about a ridiculously good-looking professor at college; Erica and Isaac bicker about what the best cake in the entire universe is; Boyd is laid back in his armchair with closed eyes, probably blending out everything around him, and Jackson just looks annoyed.

“Dude, I can’t answer even one of those,” Scott says, scowling hard at the crossword. “What the fuck is ‘A’ supposed to mean?”

Stiles is chewing on the pen again. His eyes skim the sheet. “I have no idea. Maybe— _ha_! ‘Drawing’. Painting, duh.”

“No, that doesn’t fit,” Scott points out. “It has too many letters.”

Stiles’ eyebrows knit together while his hand still overs over the little boxes. “’Picture’ is also too long.”

“Tying,” Derek says. Their heads snap up to stare at him. Their eyebrows rise ridiculously high on their foreheads, like they doubt Derek’s answer. He wishes he wasn’t so familiar with that look. It’s depressing. 

“No.” Of course, Stiles first instinct is to argue. Derek rolls his eyes.

“ _Yes_ ,” Derek argues back. “Take ‘drawing’ as a present participle, get a synonym, and it’s ‘tying’.”

“It fits,” Scott comments while Stiles glowers at Derek. Stiles takes another look at the crossword and silently mouths ‘tying’, testing out the given boxes, and huffs when Derek’s suggestion is proven to be right. 

“It could be ‘photo’ as well,” Stiles says, trailing the tip of the pen over the crossword. “What makes you so sure it’s a present participle?”

How ‘drawing’ and ‘photo’ go together in Stiles’ head is a mystery to Derek but he refrains from asking.

Stiles looks up at him again, and Derek shrugs. “Just an idea.”

“Well, your idea is _wrong_ ,” Stiles singsongs smugly and scrawls ‘photo’ into the boxes. Derek doesn’t comment on it and goes back to reading his book; however, he keeps listening to them with half an ear. 

“‘Juju and mojo’,” Stiles reads aloud, direction it at all of them apparently. “Magic?”

“Amulets,” Derek answers, just a tiny bit faster than Lydia. They all look between the two of them, and then Stiles tries out the letters for the boxes. He scowls. And puts ‘Amulets’ into the grid. Derek hides his smirk behind the book. 

“Oh, so you don’t argue with me now?” he asks then, arching his eyebrows. 

Stiles shoots him a look, replies, “Lydia said it too.”

Derek is not exactly offended that Stiles puts more faith into Lydia than him. He gets weirdly competitive, though. It’s stupid actually, since he doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone, especially not when it comes to some ridiculous crossword but still. 

“‘Property assessment’?”

Derek’s answer is immediate. “Land tax.”

Lydia’s isn’t even fast enough to get a sound out before Derek’s solution is complete; her mouth is open, as if to give a reply. She pins him with a withering look. Derek shrugs it off.

“‘Show disrespect for’, seven squares,” Scott says.

Stiles snorts. “Jackson.”

“Zip it, Stilinski.”

“That’s too long, it doesn’t fit into the grid,” Stiles counters and smiles innocuous at Jackson. Jackson is about to start arguing—as always, because Stiles and Jackson can go merely five minutes without pissing each other off—when Derek interrupts.

“It’s ‘sneer at’,” he simply says, and turns the page of his book. Stiles is distracted from Jackson and seems to ponder for a moment while he looks down at the crossword. 

“No,” he disagrees. “Second letter is a T.”

Lydia sniggers a little but she doesn’t suggest anything to correct Derek’s answer.

“What word does the T belong to?”

“Photo,” Scott replies, tracing his finger over the grid. 

Derek huffs. “The one where you put down ‘photo’ for ‘drawing’?”

“Duh,” Stiles says.

“Put in ‘tying’ and it fits,” Derek suggests smugly, nodding, because—well, he was right. Stiles scowls at Derek first and then at the crossword. Grumpily, he scribbles ‘tying’ over ‘photo’. Derek bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning self-satisfied. 

“‘Zodiac sign’, another seven squares,” Stiles reads after correcting, and then, “Oh, I know that one. S-c-o-r-p—wait, no, the second to last letter is an A. What other zodiac sign is there with seven letters?”

“None,” Lydia points out, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. “It’s—”

“The Crab,” Derek supplies, smirking when Lydia glares at him. 

“But—what?” Stiles exchanges a confused look with Scott, and then he groans. “How the hell am I supposed to know that they want the English translation and not the Latin name they go by?”

“That’s what a crossword is about, Stiles,” Boyd chimes in quietly, eyes still closed. Stiles makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“No, it’s not,” he protests. 

“It’s about testing and expanding your knowledge.” Lydia twirls a lock of Allison’s hair between her fingers.

“It’s about fun,” Stiles mutters and, frustrated, adds, “This isn’t fun. I can’t even answer half of it.”

“You can’t even answer one of it,” Jackson sneers. 

Stiles shoots him a dirty look. “And that’s coming from someone who can’t count to seven.”

“I didn—”

“‘Not straight’,” Scott reads loudly, drowning out Jackson’s voice. “Six squares.”

“Stiles,” Jackson snickers evilly. 

Stiles scoffs, “Lizard.”

“How’s a lizard not straight?”

“You are not straight and you’re a lizard. Seems good to me.”

Jackson furiously flashes blue eyes at Stiles. It doesn’t work. It never works. Stiles waves it off while Lydia puts a hand to Jackson’s cheek. The effect is immediate: he visibly deflates. Sometimes, Derek can’t help but wonder what would happen if Lydia wasn’t around to ground Jackson, to keep him in check, because she works wonders where no one else can. 

Isaac coyly suggests, “Curved.”

Scott shakes his head, saying, “Second to last letter is a T.”

Derek grins. “Twisty.”

“Stiles and twisty,” Jackson mutters under his breath, with Lydia’s hand still on his cheek. “Don’t see the difference.”

Stiles has his mouth already open to counter when Erica throws a crumpled piece of paper at his head to prevent him from ranting. He grumbles quietly and turns back to the crossword, quickly scribbling the word into the grid. 

Then he asks, “‘Receiver’? Fi—”

“Donee,” Derek interrupts. Lydia is glaring daggers at his him. She purses her lips slightly and tilts her chin up. Derek keeps his face blank but underneath he’s ridiculously gleeful about it. 

“What kind of word is that even?” Scott asks, his brows furrowed, confused. 

“I’ve never heard of it either,” Allison chimes up, and Isaac and Erica nod.

“It’s a law term,” Lydia provides, shooting Derek a dirty look, and visibly pleased that he didn’t know that apparently. He does. He grants her this little victory, though, he’s nice like that.

Stiles looks at him intently. Derek loves to have those amber eyes on him, to have Stiles’ attention. 

Scott asks, “How do you know all this?”

“He’s just naturally smart like that,” Stiles preens, smiling widely at Derek. He reaches over to pat Derek’s foot with his hand. Derek just wants to pry him away from all of their clutches and carry him to the bedroom. Instead, he exhales quietly, and smiles at Stiles.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I read a lot, and stuff sticks.”

Stiles he turns back to his crossword and puts ‘Donee’ down on the sheet, smiling proudly the whole time. 

“Ha,” Stiles says then, a cheeky grin curling his lips. “This one’s for you dudes. And dudettes. Dudesses?”

“Sometimes I wonder how you breathe without hurting yourself in the process,” Lydia scoffs incredulously, and there are a few agreeing murmurs from the others. Stiles glowers at them individually. 

“I only wanted to equally address the females here too,” he explains, huffing. 

Jackson rolls his eyes. It earns him a flick around the ear from Lydia. “At least he’s trying to be considerate.”

Derek buries his face between the pages of the book. One reason for delight is always— _always_ —that no one ever will have any of Jackson’s bullshit, and the only reaction he has is an offended scowl. 

“What is it, Stiles?” Allison asks, nudging Stiles’ foot with hers. 

“‘Predator-prey chain’,” Stiles reads aloud. 

“Food chain,” Jackson answers victoriously. “Seriously, Stilinski—”

“ _WRONG!_ ” Stiles crows, and turns to snicker at him. “You are so wrong,” he singsongs cheekily. “Seven letters.”

Derek provides, “Actually, it’s food web,” while Lydia is busy patting Jackson’s cheek in mock consolation. She whips to look at him with her eyes narrowed, and Derek can only do so much not to smirk at her. 

“How come Derek’s the only one delivering answers?” Boyd asks. He sits a little straighter in his armchair and opens his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“You’re one to talk,” Erica snorts. 

“I’m not playing,” Boyd argues, and Erica rolls her eyes.

“Please,” Lydia chirps haughtily and tilts her head. “Like it’s hard.”

They all stare at her but no one dares to say anything. Well, no one save—

“I can’t remember you giving an answer,” Stiles points out. Lydia glares at him menacingly, in a way that probably make anyone else quiver, but Stiles flashes a bright smile at her. He turns back to the crossword. Derek has the fleeting thought that you should under no circumstances turn your back on your enemy—but then again, Stiles can’t seem to care about self-preservation instincts for shit. 

“Can we please get back to the crossword?” Lydia snaps. Allison ducks her head, grinning. 

“What about this one?” Scott suggests and points at a question at the sheet. “‘One who’s, literally, good-natured’, five letters.”

“Derek,” Jackson snorts sardonically, laughing at his own joke. Stiles throws the pen at his head and Jackson is so out of it, he doesn’t even realise until it hits him square in the forehead. 

“How about you shut your face, jackass,” Stiles grouses. He ducks when Jackson throws the pen right back, not fast enough though, but Scott catches it before it can hit Stiles. “Derek is better-natured than you will ever be, assface, it’s not even a secret. Everyone who doesn’t agree can go home.”

Derek doesn’t know how to react to Stiles’ fierce protectiveness. So he doesn’t say anything, he just looks at Stiles in wonder (and gratitude), because there’s nothing he could describe the warmth with that spreads in his chest. 

“Wow, he’s whipped,” Jackson mutters, loud enough for everyone else to hear.

“Why do you refer to yourself in the third person?” Stiles asks, deadpan. “Have you lost the sense of ‘self’ under Lydia’s strict regime?”

Erica starts laughing so hard she falls backwards with her chair. Jackson glares at him, eyes flashing blue again, while Lydia mockingly pats his head, looking pleased with herself. Scott writhes on the floor laughing, Isaac looks like his grin is going to split his face in half. Allison hides her smirk behind her hand, and Boyd looks mildly amused—which is quite a lot, actually. 

Derek bends down and slides his hand around Stiles’ jaw to tilt his head and kiss him. Stiles smiles against his lips. Jackson gets up and leaves.

“Drama queen!” Erica yells after him, and it gets answered with a snarl. 

“So, can I put ‘Derek’ into the grid now?” Stiles asks then, smiling goofily at Derek.

“Saint,” Derek says, Stiles’ jaw still cupped in his hand, against his mouth. “The answer is saint.”

“Close enough,” Stiles mutters when Derek lets go, and scrawls the solution into the squares. 

Lydia rolls her eyes. “We get that you’re the most disgustingly adorable couple, right after Scott and Allison—”

“Please, we’re at least _as_ adorable, let’s be real,” Stiles interrupts, scoffing. 

“You’re so sweet you cause diabetes,” Erica confirms while Isaac nods in agreement.

“Precisely.” Stiles preens.

“I don’t think that’s a good quality,” Scott points out. Stiles shoves at his shoulder.

“You’re a werewolf, you can handle so much sugar,” Derek deadpans. He closes his book, finally, and puts it on the couch table. Stiles beams at him and holds his fist out. Derek sighs long-sufferingly, having told Stiles over and over again that he doesn’t do fist-bumping, but Stiles looks so smug and enthusiastic that Derek can’t help but nudge his own fist against it. 

“Okay, next,” Stiles says. “‘Precious’…?”

“You,” Derek answers, running his fingers over Stiles’ neck. Stiles shivers slightly, smiles up at him, a dreamy expression on his face. 

“Seven letters, Derek,” Stiles says, craning his neck, stretching towards Derek; his body a long, tight line. Derek can’t help but lean towards him, runs his fingers over his cheek. 

“Just put in ‘You & I’,” Derek answers. 

Scott groans, Lydia rolls her eyes, and Erica makes a face, saying, “Yeah, no, it’s official, you’re even more disgusting than Scallison.”

Stiles waves in her general direction, Allison smirks and Scott makes a tiny protesting sound in the back of his throat.

“Gollum,” Isaac and Allison say in unison. Stiles laughs out loud.

“Catseye,” Lydia suggests then, smirking when they all look at her. “It’s the answer, put it down.”

“That can’t be true,” Scott mutters the same time Isaac says, “Oh, come _on_. It can’t be anything other than Gollum.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, surprised, and looks up to glance at Lydia. “Fits. I’m not going to ask how you know that.”

Lydia runs her fingers through her hair, and shoots Derek a smug look. He’s man enough to admit that he didn’t know the answer to that. Smirking right back, Derek salutes to her, and Lydia rolls her eyes, a fond smile on her lips.

“’Golden rod?’” Scott reads. Stiles releases a dirty snicker and nudges his shoulder against Scott’s.

“Dude,” Scott says, grinning widely. “That was totally your Naked Lady Noise.”

Stiles throws his head back and laughs loudly. The sound skitters down Derek’s spine and makes him shiver in the most pleasant ways possible.

“More like Naked Derek Noise,” Isaac dryly comments, and now Erica and Scott shake with laughter too. Derek admits that he doesn’t get the reference but he rather doesn’t ask. 

“Seriously?” Stiles asks breathlessly as he rolls onto his back, clutching his stomach. “‘Golden Rod’?” 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Jesus,” Lydia remarks, shaking her head. “You’re like a horny fifteen year old.”

“You’re noticing that just now?” Boyd asks sarcastically, looking disbelievingly at her.

“Okay,” Stiles heaves, laughing still. “What—?”

“Scepter,” Derek says a millisecond faster than Lydia. She’s instantly back to glaring at him. Stiles laughs so hard, he curls in on himself, no sound leaving his mouth. Derek is absolutely not surprised that Stiles does _not_ get his mind out of the gutter. 

“I hope no one uses this as a synonym for penis, ever,” he wheezes out eventually while Scott, Erica and Isaac break down crying with laughter. Derek rubs a hand over his face, wondering when exactly he ended up with a bunch of dirty-minded sophomores. 

Later that day, when Stiles is the only one of the bunch left in the loft, Derek wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him against his chest. He buries his nose in Stiles’ neck, breathes in his scent. 

Stiles turns in his arms, runs his hands up his sides. “How do you know all of this stuff?”

Derek shrugs non-committally. “I used to solve a lot of crosswords, and I read a lot. Some of it is just logical thinking.”

Stiles presses kisses along his jawline. “You are _so_ sexy when you omit knowledge like that. I almost popped a _golden rod_ earlier.”

Derek groans, “Please don’t,” and Stiles laughs against the hinge of his jaw. He runs his fingers along Derek’s waistband, fingertips teasing against his skin, and hooks them around the rim of his jeans. 

“I don’t know about you but I’d like you to show me your _scepter_ ,” he drawls. Derek rolls his eyes and grabs Stiles’ thighs and lifts him onto the kitchen counter, insinuating himself between his spread knees. 

“I recall you saying that you hoped no one used it as synonyms,” Derek points out, sliding up Stiles’ shirt. 

Stiles chuckles. He shivers when Derek runs a thumb over his right nipple. 

“Just fucking with you,” Stiles breathes out. He wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, pulling him closer. “Talk crossword to me.”

Derek pulls Stiles’ shirt off. He smirks and kisses him deeply. “There was this one question on that crossword,” he says, mouths at Stiles collarbone. “‘Contents of some buns’?”

“Yeah?” Stiles is shuddering, his heartbeat is frantic. 

“Wieners.”

Stiles bangs his head against the cabinet behind him, he laughs so hard.


End file.
